Page 485 of The Christmas Wife

I hold out my hand. “Skylar Potter.” Then, because I hate my life and because, apparently, the connection between my brain and my mouth has been lost under the force of his glower, I smile. "No relation to Harry, as you’re aware."

"Harry?" He looks at my slim, pink-tipped fingers, then back at my face, and makes no move to shake my hand.

I set my jaw.Oh, my god, he’s so rude, I should slap one of the pies baking in my oven into his face; only, they’re too good to waste. Also, I can’t risk messing up a pie when I need every sale I can get.Every part of me wants to turn and run out of here. But I can’t.I owe it to myself, to my dream, to give this one last shot. I will not give up easily. I will not. I will stay polite, even if it kills me.I manage to bare my teeth in the resemblance of a smile. "You know, Harry Potter? Boy wizard?Evanesco." I pretend to flick my wand in his direction.

His jaw hardens further.

He looks pissed. The tips of his ears have turned white. Also, the end of his nose. Also, the vanishing spell on him didn’t work. His Royal Dickness is still here, larger than life and glowering at me.

"I’m totally immersed in the Potterverse. Oh, and Taylor Swift. I love Taylor Swift.” I beam at him.

His frown deepens.

“I’m guessing you’re not a Swiftie?” I nod.

“What’s that?” he asks in a contemptuous tone.

“Those of us who love Taylor Swift call ourselves Swifties.”

“Sounds contagious,” he sneers.

I ignore his cantankerous attitude because I need to charm him. And because I do need him to fork over the money I need. “I love her songs, don’t you?" I chirrup.

His fingers curl into fists at his sides. Which is not a good sign. Then, because I love to go from the sublime to the surreal, I smile even wider. "Guess which Hogwarts’s house Taylor Swift belongs to?" I toss my hair over my shoulder.

“Hogwhat?" He seems like he’s about to have a cardiac event. Or like he went to sleep and woke up in an alternate reality.This is bad. So bad. And I have to go and put my foot in it by prompting him, "Hogwarts."

"Hogwhat?" he snaps again.

This time, the light goes on in my brain. "Oh, you haven’t heard of Hogwarts." I snicker. "That’s okay, I wasn’t alive when man landed on the moon."Don’t say it, don’t say it. "Unlike you."

He blinks slowly.

Zip your lips. Just shut up already."Not that I'm implying you're old or anything. The grey in your hair adds to your distinguished appearance. Besides, you’re only fifteen years older than me."Oh shoot, I don’t think that makes it better.

The veins on his throat stand out in relief. I try to swallow, but my throat is so dry, it feels like sharp knives line my gullet. I flick out a tongue to wet my lip, and his eyes gleam. He watches my mouth with a predatory gaze. Every part of his body seems to have turned to stone, watching me with such intensity, he seems to have turned into a predator who’s planning every possible way to jump me.

The silence deepens. It doesn’t stop me from shaking a finger at him. "You, mister, need a crash course in pop culture. Although, I suppose I shouldn’t expect someone who has grey at his temples to have a sense of the zeitgeist."

"The fuck you talking about?" he bites out through gritted teeth.

"Whoa, hold on, no need to show me your horns now."Although, I’d love to see the one between your legs."In fact, you look so angry, I'm expecting you to breathe fire at any moment."You can turn into a dragon and carry me away anytime."And seriously, you should taste this." I push the plate with the moist, pink and purple, fig-shaped cake in his direction. It has a silver button between the lips and there’s glitter around it.

"My desserts are awesome; one bite, and you’ll be a convert." I nod.

He stares.

"Unless you’re worried, you’ll get addicted to my sweet bits." I tip up my chin.

Did I saymysweet bits? I did saymysweet bits.Somebody kill me.But he must see the challenge in my eyes, and alpha male that he is, of course, he doesn’t back down.

Without taking his gaze off of my face, he licks the cream from the hollow in the center. A thousand little fires flare to life under my skin. I swallow; my breath grows shallow. He bites down on one of the plump lips, and a shiver grips me. I clutch at the edge of the counter. The pulse at the base of my throat speeds up. And when he pops the other lip into his mouth, I gulp. He brings his thumb and forefinger to his mouth and sucks on them, and a breathy moan leaves my lips.

"Not bad." He shrugs.

I stare. "What do you mean, 'not bad'?Thatis my bestseller.”

"It was okay.” He looks down his nose from his superior height, “I admit, the names you give your baked goods are creative, but I’m not sure that’s enough for me to approve the takeover."

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